Seven Vitues
by bluethursday
Summary: Various drabbles centered around Timothy Drake, based loosely on the seven virtues.


Summary: The seven heavenly virtues loosely interpreted.

Chastity: Logan(Wolverine)/Tim

Temperance: Dick/Tim

Charity: Slade/Tim

Diligence: Bruce/Tim

Patience: Reboot!Kon/Tim

Kindness: Deadpool/Tim

Humility: Clark/Tim

**Chastity:**

Logan took Tim's hand as he helped him across a puddle. Dips in the sidewalk collected muddy brown sludge, small lakes of filth infested water.

Tim hated the weather, the kind that came after the rain fell in Gotham. He acted more cat than human on the days after, avoiding puddles with a nimbleness more suited to Robin than Timothy Drake. "You okay darlin?" Logan growled, watching as Tim stared at a particularly large wet spot as though it would come alive and run after him.

He had seen his darlin wade through sewers without that look on his face. He had seen him after he waded through said sewers without that look on his face, but one tiny mud puddle and suddenly his bottom lip was quivering.

Logans boots were thick and dirt stained, messier than Tim's pristine black rain boots, which had yet to collect a speck of mud on their surface, so it was with no great sacrifice that he picked Tim up, cradled him close to his chest and walked over the mess known as the sidewalk. Anything to get that look of his face.

Tim squeaked in surprise but snuffled into Logan's thick plaid shirt nonetheless. "Thank you" He whispered, his voice barely heard over the rush of the street.

Logan grinned, happy and proud. God, he thought, he hadn't even fucked the kid and here he was carrying him over puddles like a blushing bride. It was however, a great consolation to know that no one had ever taken Tim before, and Logan, well , Logan couldn't wait to be the first. And the second. And the last.

Smiling Logan continued to walk. He had a lil darlin who needed to get home soon, and Logan was just the man to escort him.

**Temperance:**

Tim smiled politely as he declined yet another drink. He saw no need to loose control in public as his brothers seemed to do so very often. Watching Dick as he flirted with yet another girl, a crack in his smile began to form.

Yet another model, socialite, actress was going to end up in Dick's bed. It was enough to drive Tim to drink if he didn't like like the taste. It was enough to make him want to ruin the girls life. It was enough to make him want to pour champagne on Dick's crotch and let the reporters claim that he soiled himself in public.

Tim knew that Dick had no idea just how much Tim loved him, how much he adored him. How much he wanted him, and he never would. But on nights like this where he had to watch, look as another girl took everything he wanted. Right. In. Front. Of. Him. Well, Tim never claimed to be saint.

Dick was thoroughly drunk at this point, and Tim was standing in the camera's blind spot, and in three, two, one -

"Tim, Timmy, Timbo, You can make the excuses can't you, me and my, m-my, her, we have an app-apponment, appointment, kay baby bro?" Dick slurred. Good, he wouldn't remember this tomorrow.

Tim smiled. The kind of smile a cat gives to a mouse before it devours its prey. "You know what your date would really like Dick." Tim started, because Dick loved to please everyone.

"I bet she would really like it if you danced for her." Tim continued because, Dick loved to preform.

"And maybe, she would like it if you took your shirt off. Just a little bit. Maybe." Tim finished. Dick stared at him as though he had cured cancer and AIDS in the same day.

He then proceeded to climb onto the banquet table and take off his pants.

So much better than letting everyone think Dick pissed himself, Tim thought. The underwear came of next.

So, so much better.

**Charity:**

The first thing about Slade is that he has massive hands. Large and calloused they easily dwarf Tim's. The second thing about Slade is that he never forgets his gloves, unlike Tim. Tim who organizes his socks by color and measures his clothes after he folds them to make sure they're all folded exactly the same, never remembers his gloves.

The thing about Tim is that he has cold extremities. His hands and feet freeze easily and he trembles like a baby deer when he's cold.

The third thing about Slade is that despite being a ruthless mercenary he's also a gentleman. So when Tim walks beside him, watching the snow fall, shivering like a new born deer learning to walk, he takes off his gloves, and delicately cover's Tim's hands with them.

"You're far too cold sweet heart." He purrs.

The fur lined leather threatens to slip off Tim's fingers as he places one hand back into his pocket. The other Slade takes into his own pocket, threading their fingers together. Tim blushes a soft creamy rose as he leans up, bracing himself on Slade's shoulders to give him a soft kiss.

"You'll have to be warm enough for the both of us then." It shouldn't sound like,_ yes_, and _I love you_, and _forever_, but some how it does.

The white haired man smiles. They continue their walk.

**Diligence:**

When his Robin, his Tim quits, it's as though someone submerged him in ice water. Bruce would have preferred the ice water. He knows why. He knows that Jack found out. He knows the man doesn't approve of his son's night time activities.

He knows that he should say things like, _I love you_, and _I'm proud of you_. Soft, warm things to hold Tim over as he gives up Robin. Things that Tim needs to hear, but somehow they get stuck behind _don't leave me, don't ever leave me,_ and _i'll hunt you down and bring you home, bring you back to me,_ so he doesn't say a word.

He just nods his head and replaces his beautiful, perfect bird with a blonde who can't even fly. Her only saving grace is that she was Tim's girlfriend and in the wake of his loss, Bruce is collects as much of Tim as he can, wherever he can get it.

Jack has forbidden contact. Bruce dreams of breaking his neck.

Bruce made no such agreements and he is nothing but diligent. Watching Tim, small and sad as he walks to school, Bruce presses his fingertips to the screen and waits.

Soon he thinks. Soon.

**Patience:**

Kon is patient. It's something he's learned waiting in a tube, watching others watch him. He knows theirs something wrong with him. He knows that he doesn't connect to people. Not like he's supposed to. Kon, Kon just wants to be free.

He doesn't need anybody, or anything, at least he didn't. Not until the boy, not until Robin.

The first time he sees him, something clicks and he wants to rip that mask from his eyes, because he can't bare not knowing what color they are. Can't bare not knowing what he sounds like when he's sleeping. Can't bare not knowing what he dreams of in the dark of the night.

Kon doesn't dream, but if he did he would dream of Robin.

He would dream of Robin, dressed in bare skin, curled up on a bed, because his skin is soft, not like Kon's and he needs to sleep on soft things or else he could get hurt. Kon would dream of holding Tim, close and safe and warm, because he could keep him warm and Tim looked like he'd get cold far too easily.

If he could dream, this is what he would dream of.

A house by the ocean, because Tim would need a house. Somewhere warm, with no one else around, no one to bother them. No one to stop Tim from taking his mask off.

But Kon is patient. He knows these things take time. So he'll wait and build their house when no one's looking, because one day, he'll see what color Robin's eyes are. And one day they'll live in the house Kon is building, nestled by the sea. And Robin will take off his mask. And Kon will love him.

**Kindness:**

He never asks for more than Tim can gave. Maybe it's because he knows just how easily people can break, how easily they can can be torn apart that he takes such great care with Tim. His hands are always soft.

Deadpool, Wade smiles, his burned flesh curling as he does. Tim traces the paths the scars take with his fingertips. "You have a kind face."

Wade laughs but he does nothing to stop Tim "You'd be the first to say so babydoll. The very first."

He knows that, somewhere, at sometime, something hurt his babydoll, his Tim real bad. He knows because Tim tells him. He tells him in the way he always goes so stiff when Wade touches him, like a doll under his hands before leaning into the touch. He tells him in the way he flinches whenever he spills anything as though expects someone to punish him for it.

He tells him in the way he holds onto Wade in the dead of the nights and asks him, voice low "When are you leaving?" As though he can't believe anyone would stay with him for any reason whatsoever.

So Wade is kind, because he knows that Tim is strong. He knows that he is capable, but also knows that someone hurt him a long long time ago and now his babydoll can't believe that anyone would love him. Can't believe that anyone would want to.

One day, Wade thinks as he kisses Tim's forehead, he's going to find the miserable bastards who hurt his baby, Tim coos softly at the action, and he's going to bury them.

**Humility:**

Clark knew the Robin's. Each and every one of them.

He met Dick first. The eldest Robin, certainly the brightest. A performer, a showman if Clark had ever known one, Dick was a Romani down to his bones. Jason was next. When Jason fought, he gloated. He preened as though to show the world what he had done. He was proud, and rightly so.

He met Tim third. Youngest of the Robins. Bird bone thin, Clark was scared of breaking him. The silence didn't help. Tim was quiet. He barely spoke at all, instead he did his job and scuttled away like a field mouse spooked by a cat.

Clark noticed him most, because Tim was silent, because he hid behind Bruce's cloak, but hacked into LexCorp when Clark asked him to. Because Tim wasn't a performer, or a showman, but a small bird with too little fat and too many problems.

Clark's mother used to laugh at him when brought birds home, feeding them and keeping them warm before setting them free. Clark would have laughed at the memory as well, if only the bird he wanted to bring home didn't come from such a hostile nest.

Because Clark couldn't bring the Robin with him, he brought things to the bird. Cakes from Ma Kent, to fatten him up, home made sweaters to keep in warm, and when Clark had showed his Ma a picture of Tim an entire basket of muffins because "That boy is too small, look at him, he's going to die if you don't do something Clark, here give him these!"

Tim still didn't say much, but he ate the muffins, and that was good enough for Clark. It was a start.


End file.
